


Souvenir

by LieutenantLoot



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 3
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantLoot/pseuds/LieutenantLoot
Summary: Even though Jason had left Rook physically, he couldn't leave behind the hell of a trip.He brought back the worst souvenir he could ever imagine - Vaas Montenegro himself.
Relationships: Jason Brody/Vaas Montenegro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WIP, not sure when I will finish this  
> Edit April 12th 2020: added a few bits here and there.  
> Edit December 26th 2020: added a few lines in the end; got something of an idea how to end this. Also split this into chapters.

Every night, he felt like he was falling again. As soon as his eyes closed, he was tripping into the rabbit’s hole. Poor Alice he was, lured and pushed into the jungle by the grinning Cheshire cat and brought down to his knees in the Queen of Heart’s temple.  
The bitter difference is that Alice’s story ends just before her execution.  
Jason had to push further.

As warm sunlight hit his closed lids, Jason slowly crawled back into conscience. For a few seconds, he tried to tie the loose ends of the lost thoughts, blurred in dreams, but gave up soon. It wasn’t like he could find the key to his escape in them either. The pictures he had seen time and time again did not make any more sense, no matter how often he tried to understand what had happened in the neon lights back then. While a part of him desperately tried to realize the proceedings, another one just wanted to know what hell of a drug he was on back then and how he could get that stuff into his veins again.

Stuck in sweaty sheets, he remained still for a second and listened for a sound. There were distant noises of human interaction somewhere beyond his room but he couldn’t make out the words. He swallowed down the urge to crouch to one of the thin walls and listen for what was said outside and took a few deep breaths of stale air.  
Rook not only left traces on his skin but rather on his mind and soul.

The strongest reminder that the shit on Rook Island really had happened and it wasn’t all just a big mess of psychedelic drugs greeted him as soon as he opened his eyes and looked down on his arms. The dark brown markings were still stuck underneath his skin, ridged with scars in a few spots. The worst holiday souvenir he ever brought back home.

As he sat up and peeled his limbs out of the thin sheets, his eyes wandered over the bedroom of his small apartment. He stopped at the reflection of his own face in the mirror in the corner of the room and almost chuckled when he noticed the pale face staring back at him.  
“Snow White seems fitting.” He mumbled with his voice still raspy from sleep. He couldn’t deny the shiver the nickname sent to his back or the small bitter smile that it brought to his lips. It stayed when he heard a snarling voice, deep in the back of his head, snickering in a sharp Spanish accent.

Jason ripped away his eyes from his own sickly pale face, tried to ignore the background noise in his head that never seemed to end and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Stretching his back he randomly grabbed a shirt that he had thrown there the night before and got up.  
Still yawning, he made his way through the open door and ignored the glimpse of a known red tank top in the corner of his vision.  
He knew what Rook had cost him. And he definitely knew what it had given him.

The first time his mind had played tricks on him was way back on Rook when he stalked through the jungle and watched out for privateers in the dark of the forest. It started when he heard a very distinctive voice calling him names. Jason had thought that his nerves snapped or that the last syringe might have been a second-hand one - but when he turned around and saw the origin of the accent commenting every move he made, he almost shat his pants. There he stood in all his grace, bleeding from the chest as he left him.  
Vaas Montenegro.  
Instinctively Jason had fired the gun in his hands and the illusion of the red devil in front of him had vanished. The gunshot had attracted a caravan nearby and a heavy shootout made the American forget about the horrific delusion he had.  
Unfortunately it wasn’t the last one.

It had not taken long for the Spanish accent to crawl its way back into his skull. It had stayed with him while he was on the killing spree on the island and had accompanied him in his blood thirst for revenge and freedom.  
More than once he found himself face forward in a puddle of mud and pieces of former privateers while clearing out the outposts in a mechanical routine. He needed to demolish them. Erase what’s left of the king.  
“You disappoint me blanquito… My sister said you’d last longer.”  
It was the bitter pity, the sarcastic wink that got him up again, pushing himself out of the human waste and stumble back to his feet. It didn’t matter that his arms were trembling or that he spat blood everywhere he went – the louder his mind screamed at him in Spanish accent that he wouldn’t make it, the harder he tried to prove it wrong.  
Even when he found himself next to a paltry campfire digging bullets from his own flesh or flinching in the loss of a friend, he could find no rest.  
“Oh, so that German fucker got stabbed to the fucking heart?! I WONDER HOW HE FUCKING FELT! ”  
And unfortunately Jason wasn’t the only one disappointed and outraged.  
“Jason, Jason… if you let this fucking South African faggot kill you, I’ll take it personal. You can’t simply give _him_ what you fuckin denied _me_ all the time - fuck, that’s not fair. Oh fuck, _you’re_ not fair.”

Back on Rook, Vaas’ comments were what made Jason push even harder, fight even fiercer and bite even stronger. It was the fuel to the flame and damn, it burned bright. He was ready to burn the whole Island down.  
Erase what it was made of. Exterminate its roots. Kill its magic.  
“Come on, Jason, prove who’s the stronger bitch in the jungle. Stab her like you stabbed me and take another fucking heart with you.”  
In the end, he achieved what he wanted.  
But it wasn’t over with that.

When Jason had escaped the hell of Rook and moved back to America, he had tried to leave ‘Snow White’ in the depths of the jungle. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t leave Vaas there with his dead rotting body. His voice still rumored in his head and every now and then, his frame appeared lingering in his apartment, judging or mocking him. Still there was nothing left of the constant screaming forcing him to hunt and kill.  
Soon, the appearance of a red tank top next to him or a black mohawk behind him in the mirror wasn’t surprising anymore. Jason got used to his own kind of madness. Insanity. Maybe someday his delusions would change? And maybe Vaas was right and they both were the same; he certainly accepted that he was a part of him now.  
Instead of rage or terror, he only felt annoyance when the pirate king hovered around him. Jason knew the deal and usually the pirate would vanish when Jason threw something after him. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. By the time he tried to get used to his old kind of lifestyle, the tanned frame even gave him the smallest bit of the familiarity of coming back home, as pathetic as it sounds. 

The shirt he had picked up from the floor before still in his hands, he waddled down into his living room. There wasn’t much in it but a couch and a table and the open kitchen on the side that was rather messy. A small apartment but still it was his home now.

“Oi, hermano, you missed me?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Oi, hermano, you missed me?”

Jason’s brows rose a small bit as he saw the usual figure of Vaas in his kitchen. The same snarling voice, the same shark-like grin on his lips. Just as always. Sometimes he wondered when he had the time to memorize of the face that was hunting him now.

“Noup.” Jason sighed and threw on the shirt he carried with him.   
Without looking back to his unwanted roommate, he swung himself over the couch and reached out for the remote on the coffee table in front of him. He turned on the TV and tried to pay attention to it but couldn’t keep himself from trying to catch a glimpse of the red shirt from the corner of his eye. To his side, the former pirate king leaned against the kitchen counter in a waiting manner, an almost patient look in his face. Arms crossed, he observed the room.

A few moments passed without a word being spoken. This probably was a new record for the silent seconds that they had shared – or he had experienced since the line between ‘he’ and ‘they’ had slowly faded.

“Jason?”  
The American hunched his shoulders and gave his best to ignore the voice behind him. No matter how hard he wanted to pay attention to the screen in front of him, his eyes followed the frame to his far side instinctively.   
“Jason? Hermano!”  
The American bluntly switched the channels on the TV.   
“The rockets and grenades got cha deaf, Mr. Brody?”

“Fuck you, Vaas.” Jason mumbled into his stubble and tried to disappear into the cushions. In his back, he heard clothes shift, small rustles and heavy boots on the kitchen floor. Apparently this was one of the more imaginative days for him.

“What was that?” A small snarl full of disbelief reached him and another heavy stomp followed the first one.

“Fuck. You.” Jason stated, louder and more confident this time, still facing away from the pirate.

“Fucking LOOK AT ME when you’re fuckin talking to me!”   
The rising volume and the jump forward caught Jason off-guard and his head snapped back to Vaas’ frame as he let the remote fall from his hand. He had pushed himself from the counter and stepped forward, slowly sauntering towards him. Combat boots clunked on the floor.

Jason eyed him curiously; there was something odd about the pirate but he couldn’t lay the finger on what it was exactly. Maybe it was just because today he got the full Vaas Montenegro experience instead of plain mocking voices, today with the whole set of frantic movement and the screaming thing. He wondered if his brain could simulate flying spit.

“Now we’re talking, Jason. Long time no see, eh? I missed you.” A smile curled his lips and amusement flickered in his eyes. This wasn’t the happy smile you gave someone you’ve been missing for a short while; this was the exited grin of a hunter smelling his prey. Jason felt the beginning instinctive panic crawling up his spine but pushed it down. Just because this illusion was walking, it wasn’t any more dangerous than dyslexia. Just another dysfunction in your brain.

Vaas stopped strolling in an awkward distance. His restless eyes flew over the few pieces of furniture while Jason lured behind the backrest of the sofa.   
“So this is it? This is really it? The oh-so-fucking-famous Snow White lives in an apartment smaller than my fucking crapper?”

“You can shit on whole Rook Island, Vaas. Unfair comparison.”

Jason expected another sudden raise in volume, the frequent usage of the filling word ‘fuck’ and a liter of imaginative spit flying over to him – instead of that, Vaas’ eyes found back to Jason and the shark-like grin on his lips widened bemused. The calm temper felt odd, just like his rather slow movements.  
“Grew some balls over the time, huh?” The words seemed almost playful but the small growl in his voice told the truth behind the repressed aggression.   
“So what was it you do for living again? - Photography, eh…” He rather thought out loud than actually asked the question with eyes still scanning the walls. Observing.  
“We have to talk about the usage of the word ‘shoot’, Jay. You’ve been doin some fuckin weird things since you’re off Rook and I won’t let you become the fuckin pussy again you were when we met. You know, ‘shooting’ someone… some cultures think you can steal a person’s soul by taking a photo of them, hermano. That’s deep shit.” His eyes flung from point to point, everywhere except for Jason, his brows furrowed deeply in determination.  
“Push the fear back into the word, Jason; you took more souls that you can fucking count and don’t tell me  _this_ kind of shooting now is satisfying for you greedy ass.” 

“Oh yeah, the decadent pirate-king who owned a whole island calls me greedy.” Jason snarled and leaned back on the couch. Sometimes he wondered why he kept the discussion alive by responding to Vaas’ monologues and blamed simplicity of boredom. Neglecting the itch of loneliness he pushed away the thought that it was nice to talk to at least someone when everyone you loved was either dead or thought you were.

While Jason rolled on to his side again, facing the TV, he noticed the former pirate taking another few steps into the room, alongside the pictures framed on the wall. He tried to monitor him in the reflection of the screen but couldn’t make out more than a rough silhouette reaching out for one of the photographs. Another point on the list of unusual behavior for the unwanted roommate.

“It was my island until you took it from me, blanquito. I’m surprised you didn’t loot the shit out of me after all that you’ve been taking.”

“To be honest, I thought about taking the necklace with me. Just as a souvenir. ” Jason murmured and didn’t care for hiding the bitter smile on his lips. He had thought about taking a piece of him back to America and took the whole person with him instead. Maybe he had been greedy as he just has been told.  
He remembered the last few breaths of his opponent as clears as if they were his own. He almost felt the knife still in his hands, the strong grip around his wrist and how easy the tribal blade cut through fabric, skin and flesh. The last memory was raging pulse beneath burning skin.   
He didn’t need a souvenir with this feeling still on his fingers.

“So you _did_ miss me, Jason! Aw, cute little white boy’s still the warm-hearted Disney princess I knew! Missing your murderer… you’re probably the noblest sissy I’ve ever met.” Snickering ripped the American out of his memories. Even the lines between ‘murderer’ and ‘victim’ seemed to fade by now.  
“- But seriously, if you had taken the necklace I would have cut off your fucking fingers now and stuff ‘em in ya throat.” 

Jason sat up and shot the former pirate a dismissive look. This was starting to get ridiculous.   
“Another one? Good luck with holding a knife, Vaas, don’t try to shit me. You don’t even have the arms left to strangle me.” A snort voiced his indignation.

The chuckling continued as Vaas mockingly flexed his biceps.  
“I might missed out a few weeks of training but we both exactly know who’s the fucking reason for that, aye?” The smile on his lips evolved into the threatening grin that Jason probably knew best. The joking was over now.   
“And we both know that I still can kill you with bare fucking hands.”  
His whole frame hunched forward, closing the distance a little more.   
“Jason, you know what I used to see of when I thought of you? I saw a ruthless hunter, more fuckin Jungle in veins than any Rakyat has, dauntless and too bloodthirsty and hungry to be fucking caged. I saw the most dangerous and suicidal warrior I can fuckin imagine.”  
The small sparks of fascination (- proud?) in his eyes disappeared as soon as Jason imagined them. Vaas straightened himself and took advantage of the height difference to stare at him despairingly.  
“I see nothing of that now. Fucking nothing, blanquito. What I see now is nothing more than the afraid, wide-eyed piece of shit that just had crashed on the wrong motherfucking island, completely relying on his older brother to safe his arse.”

“Don’t you dare talking about him!” Jason snapped. This was a sweet spot they both knew; rage crawled up his veins. His hands clawed into a cushion to his side as he desperately tried to keep himself from screaming to loud for his neighbors’ sake.

“What was that bitch’s name again? Garry? Garret? Gra –“  
The smug grin was wiped of his face when Jason lost his temper and simply hurled the cushion in his hands after Vaas. He didn’t even wait for the satisfying noise it made when it hit the framed photos on the wall and the soft thump when it hit the ground before he turned around to face the TV again.  
The moment the illusion disappeared when something – someone – touched it had some bitter sweetness to it. The repose was delightful but he felt lonely then nevertheless.   
He took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself, eyes glued to the screen.  
Back to normality. Watching TV on lazy days off.

Back to a normal life.

Good plan.


	3. Chapter 3

Actually?  
Fuck the plan.  
Rook taught him the hard way that plans never worked out the way he wanted them to.

Jason was sure his heart exploded when he felt a sudden smack in the back of his neck and reflexively caught the cushion flying back to him. His fingers clenched into it as he slowly turned around and noticed that the enraged pirate was still in his apartment.   
That he did  _not_ vanish in a cloud of smoke and smell of weed as he did all the other times an object (- as skin) hit him.  
If the definition of insanity was trying the same thing over and over again, expecting something to change - was the actual change the confirmation or the disproval?

“WHAT THE FUCK, JASON? HOW FUCKING RUDE!”

Jason wavered for a split second when he saw the former pirate taking a leap towards him. The short moment of eye-contact felt so unbelievable real. The rage in his eyes made him appear so  _alive_ . Blown pupils stared right into his soul; it only lasted for a second but if felt like it left an imprint in Jason’s head. A faint memory of the dagger in his hand made him insecure whether he was more afraid of the idea of Vaas crawling out of his grave or himself going completely nuts right now.

Instinctively Jason tried to back out and pushed himself away from the heavy breathing mess in front of him. He hurled backwards, missing the end of the couch and fell into the space right next to the table with a loud thump. His breathing went frantic as he crawled backwards into the corner of the room, trying to escape the tricks his own mind played on him.

“I expended the fucking effort to look after you, Jason, and you welcome me like _that_?” 

Down on the floor, Jason’s eyes were stuck to the pirate ones. The rage, the fanatism, the hunger; Jason saw Vaas the way he knew him best by now. He saw the essence of his being leaning on the sofa’s backrest in front of him smiling down to him in a too calm to be real manner. They both knew that there was no way of escaping, so the hunter started playing with his prey.

“Remember how you welcomed me on your island?” Jason huffed and tried to catch a glimpse to the right to look out for a way to run from the figure in front of him.   
He wondered how strong his imagination was if he already had felt the cushion flying back to him. He was afraid of the phantom pain that would give his opponent the strength back to strangle him.

Vaas pushed himself up from the rest and grinned down to Jason, knowing exactly that cold sweat stood on his neck and that his hands started to tremble in nervousness.   
“I greeted you exactly like you deserved it, hermano. I gave you what you needed.”   
The shark-like grin on his lips grew even wider as he hunched forward, eyes piercing into Jason’s.  
“And you gave me exactly what _I_ needed.”   
The privateer moved forward and hopped over the backrest playfully, closing the distance between him and his prey a little as he landed on the sofa. He seemed to linger there casually but Jason saw the tension in his shoulders and arms – he was ready to launch after him.

“I need you to shut up for a second.” Jason gnarled faintly and tried to ignore that the little ridiculous barrier between them had vanished. He was afraid of the capability of his own mind: Whatever happened next, he was sure it would hurt like shit, weather it was phantom-pain or not.

“Exactly Jason: You need me.”  
A smug grin appeared on Vaas’ face. Jason concentrated on every ever so small twitch he made trying to predict the next move even though he knew he couldn’t outrun his own madness. He watched the pirate’s lips curl und his arms tension as he raised one hand talking.   
Eyes wide, Jason clawed into the floor beneath him, just as ready to jump as his opponent was. A small portion of his mind tried to remember when he had been close enough to the pirate that he could memorize so many details of him. Apparently, the new Montenegro experience came in HD. 

“See, Jason”, Vaas started after a small dramatic pause, “look at what you’ve been when you fell from fuckin heaven on to Rook: A white-ass sissy, bored by life itself, jumping from planes to feel he’s fucking alive.”   
On a sudden, he sat up and straightened his back, eyeing the American in front of him. He didn’t seem to blink as his eyes wandered over Jason.  
“Look at what you’ve been when you burnt down half of my island. A rampaging warrior, blinded by rage, enlightened by nature, led by instincts.” The maniac rattled, eyes glowing in fascination.   
Jason pushed himself onto his arms, sliding a few inches backwards. Inconspicuously he reached for the wall behind him. It was inches away, no space to escape properly except for the way straight ahead - but it was blocked by the muscled hallucination that leaned back into the cushion to shoot him an evaluating look.   
“Jason, the Snow White that I know would probably linger in a fucking houseplant like a fucking predator by now, waiting for the right fucking moment to jump me. Wouldn’t choose between stabbing me again and cutting my throat because he’d simply do fucking _both_ to make sure that it worked this time. If it was _him_ , I would wait fucking proudly for exactly that moment – but I don’t. Because it’s not _him_ sitting in front of me, _it’s fucking you again_!”

The sudden rise in volume left Jason speechless. For a second, he stopped trying to find a way out of his horrible daydream and marveled if it was disappointment in Vaas’ eyes that gave them a dark look. His mind must have made up a new emotional spectrum besides the usual brutal rage and bemused psychic behavior.

“You’ve changed, hermano. I never thought you’d make it home.”  
Jason didn’t, either. But he made it; he conquered the island and stopped the biggest nightmare of his life. He told himself he could do the inception-thing and wake up a second time.  
“I’m sorry I let you.”

The American watched him as he slumped back into the cushions. His shoulders rose and his fingers twitched as he inhaled deeply. He seemed to be sunken in a stream of memories and the small hints of regret or frustration in his face were probably the reason he remained silent for more than five seconds.   
Impacted by the movement he made as he let out a frustrated sigh, the filthy piece of fabric - formerly known as a red tanktop - slipped from the tanned collarbone.

Jason’s eyes flung open.

No matter how many times he had tried to catch a glimpse of the illusion behind him in the mirror unnoticed, it had never changed. The blurred image of a red shirt, undefinable colored pants, a sloppily shaved head… but never any additions. Never anything missing.   
Never the edge of a dirty chest dressing being revealed from under the red shirt.  
Jason’s mind showed him the same thing over and over again and he never expected it to change.   
But it did.

“Jason, do you understand how fucking frustrating it is when you spend so much fucking effort into something? Someone? Living and breathing from your heartbleeding commitment? And that fucker breaks into pieces and takes you with him? I’m not talking about fucking Jenga, hermano.”  
The former pirate slowly turned his head back to Jason. His eyes narrowed as he starred at the American who clawed into the floor so desperately that he felt his nails chip from the pressure. He tried to follow the Hispanic’s abstruse words but his heart pounded too loud in his own ears.

“You killed me once in my own arena, reaching the fucking zenith, Brody. You tried to kill me the second time when you left the island, leaving everything that had happened behind. Taking everything that kept me alive with you.”   
For a breathtaking moment, heavy silence laid between them.

The cold sweat on his hands almost made Jason slip backwards. This time, he couldn’t stop the panic from rushing through his limbs as he saw Vaas rolling his shoulders and lurking at him from hooded eyes.   
The details, the movements, the additions in unusual behavior – this wasn’t a worn projection of his subconscious but the living, breathing and bleeding original.

“Why suddenly so afraid?” Vaas purred lowly. It took him only a second to switch from lingering between disappointment and frustration to sadistic joy at the panic in Jason’s face.   
“I wonder if it was really the jungle or rather the thrill of the hunt that creeped into your veins, hermano. Being the bait teaches you so much more about hunting than stalking in the fuckin’ forest yourself.”  
Vaas shifted slightly onto his legs, arms propped onto the couch beneath him. His shoulders tensed and a flinch ghosted through his face. Jason didn’t even notice the twitch. His eyes were glued to the bandage. He felt the blood rushing through his head and welcomed the sickness in his stomach that hovered on the edge between deadly panic and utter excitement.

“I made you more a warrior than Citra did. We both left our markings on your skin to do so, Jason. Still you never seemed to be as afraid of hers as you were of mine.”

“I’ve never feared either of your markings.”, Jason gulped dryly. He grasped for air.   
“The only thing that scared me was the affection behind yours.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Vaas launched forward onto him. He felt heated skin on his, heavy limbs squashing his own and the back of his head crashing into the wall behind him. He wished he would lose his consciousness so the heavy pressure on his body and mind would fade into black but he was wide awake, adrenaline rushing through his veins.  
Under his weight his lungs almost gave out; his breathing was frantic and his eyes were wide. The privateer’s face was so close to his own that he could basically count the small scratches and lines of history in his face. He could see the burnt edges of his mohawk.

“This isn’t about affection, Jason, this is about possession.” Vaas corrected him.   
Their foreheads were almost touching. Jason felt the heat radiating from the tanned skin against his own. It caught up on him. The last time he had felt it, he was stuck in the deepest corners of Vaas’ camp, floating over broken TV-screens, higher than ever before.

Vaas’ hand moved from his shoulder down to Jason’s left hand where his ringfinger was missing. “This might be Hoyt’s.”  
Another part of Jason that stayed on Rook, quite literally. He had not had the chance to look after his missing finger back then. His stakes had been high and so he accepted his lost in the game of poker.   
“And this might be Citra’s...” Vaas murmured lowly.   
Fingertips brushed over the dark brown lines of the tattoo sleeve that covered almost the whole arm. He was disturbingly tender while his knees squashed the American’s limbs beneath his body weight.   
“But this –“   
With a sudden quickness the pirate grabbed Jason’s throat and pulled him slightly upwards, “- this is mine. Fucking entirely mine, Jason.”  
The American coughed under the grip around his neck or at least tried to do so. He had panic attacks before and damn, this wasn’t the usual fear that tied up your throat. These hands weren’t a metaphor, they were damn fucking real. He felt the short nails digging into his skin.  
Reality was gripping on him.

“Hermano, your pulse – do I make you nervous?” Vaas snarled mockingly.

“Barely.” Jason hissed gesturing for a small distance with his free hand.   
He waited for the punch or the fingers tightening around his neck to choke him to punish him for the disrespect but neither happened. He squinted at the Hispanic in concentration, desperate to hold eye-contact. Dangling on the edge of unconsciousness, he noticed that in the weirdest of Stockholm-syndrome-ways, he had missed the company.

Due to the lack of reaction, Jason grabbed Vaas by the wrist and tried to pull his hand from his throat. His back was lowered a little but the clutch remained. Jason had thought being threatened and hunted by his potential murderer had been driving him insane before but it was the skin contact, the body heat, the smell of weed and the jungle that nibbled on his mind now.   
He had forgotten how  _intense_ his character was at first-hand.

“Why you’re here, Vaas?” Jason huffed.  
He didn’t need to ask how exactly this could have happened because it was oblivious. They both were flying high as Lucy through the sky with diamonds the last time they met and honestly, it was likely that Jason had missed. He had avoided the question if he was in favor of that possibility.

By now, his breathing made rattling noises that blended well into his raspy voice. It probably sounded worse than it actually was, he thought.   
Still the grip limbered around his neck a little so it was tight enough to hold him down but cautious of not choking him. His own hand remained on Vaas’ loosely. They both were conscious of the contact, there wasn’t the slightest twitch being left unnoticed. It was weird being so close yet Vaas’ eye contact lasted for split seconds at maximum.  
“I didn’t expect a dead person visiting me on a Sunday.”   
Half a lie on his lips, Jason grinned up to Vaas on top of him.

“Stop fucking Bruce-Willis-ing me, Jason.”

“I rather Tyler-Durden you, eh?” Jason huffed countering the pop culture reference. The appreciating grin that appeared for a second on his opponent’s face was rather unexpected. Before the pirate had the chance to give him one of his standard answers full half-assed philosophical thesis, Jason interrupted. He still needed to know why the former drug lord stalked him in his apartment, hundreds of miles away from the jungle.   
Jason himself was surprised how deliberately he accepted that the most important murder he had committed apparently had been a miss. The big mission of encountering Vaas Montenegro was given a second chance now and no matter who would live or die in the end of the day, Jason was glad that he finally was back at it again.  
Maybe he had been missing the clear aim in his life over the last few weeks.  
“Still: Why are you here?”

Back in business, the hint of a normal human expression fell from his face to expose the hunter’s mania beneath it. The pressure on his chest increased as Vaas shifted his weight to Jason’s upper body.  
“I told you this was about possession, Jason. Did you really think you could leave me just like that? That I would fucking  _let_ you leave just like that?”   
By now, he was so close that Jason had a hard time focusing on the pirate’s eyes without his vision turning blurry.   
“Not without me, hermano. Not without fucking me.”  
He felt his breath and the threat on his skin. Vaas eyes twitched between Jason’s, unsure of the next move.

“So it was fucking Citra instead of fucking you then? You flirted so aggressively ‘cause you had blue balls? ” Jason grinned up to him.

The punch that wept the grin out of his face came faster than he possibly could have prepared for. Merciless knuckles hit his cheek and lip after the Hispanic sat up to lunge out properly.  
The pirate leaned back and sighed deeply, a smile on his face that hovered between bemusement and aggression.  
“There he is! The suicidal white boy, not familiar to any kind of fucking respect!”

Jason felt relieved as the hand around his neck disappeared and the punch had landed on his face. Back to normal behavior for the pirate king. He felt the tension falling from him a little for the sudden violence and tried to remember that fist in his face wasn’t explicitly a “no”.   
He was aware that it definitely was insane but this was a step back into his normality. Reality literally had hit him in the face.  
Maybe he had been missing the fights.

Released from the tight grip around his neck, his upper body had fallen back on the floor. He took a few deep breaths to calm down a little and appreciated the cold surface against his heated skin.   
From this angle, it was hard to study the pirate king who apparently did not even thought about getting off of him.  
It had been barely a few weeks since Jason had left the island behind. He noticed that the bandages around Vaas’ chest were stained but wrapped neatly. He maybe didn’t end him but he couldn’t help but feeling a little proud – for almost killing him and also for the fact that even a nearly deadly injury couldn’t stop him from hunting after the American.

“You ran into my knife and call me suicidal…” Jason huffed, grinning for the irony. He felt the blood running from his lip.  
“You were waiting for me, Vaas. _You_ needed _me_.”

The Hispanic stared between his eyes in concentration. You could basically see his mind rattle behind the scarred forehead. Jason had never seen him like this before; he knew that Rook’s former king could be a strategic and scheming person but he had always assumed that he would simply continue talking while thinking about something completely different. He wasn’t the type to commit to just one logical thought.  
“You couldn’t simply let yourself be shot by a Rakyat, could you? You needed something bigger. You needed a show. You set up all this drama ‘cause you knew I would come for you.” Jason grinned deviously. His eyes wandered over the pirate, analyzing every move he expected but wasn’t made.

On a sudden, Vaas let out huff.  
“Are you serious?” He snickered, “Are you fucking kidding me, Brody?”  
He bowed down closer to Jason. In his distinctive rhetorical extravaganza, he lowered his voice and almost whispered.   
“Do you really think that I waited for you to end this mess? Oh blanquito, stop being so bigheaded. Didn’t your mama teach you any modesty? - I don’t need your mercy. I didn’t need you to kill me, hermano. And you  _couldn’t_ kill me. I know, I know, it’s frustrating, I know… but you get used to it when you try to shoot, stab, burn and drown someone and he still won’t fucking die.”  
Beneath the dead weight on his body Jason’s legs started to grow numb; the muscular frame felt heavier than it looked – heavier than he remembered.

“It was burning, drowning, detonating, shooting, drugging and finally stabbing me. Exactly in that order. Oh and don’t mind the heart attacks I had with the jump scares.” Jason spat.

Vaas sloppily hit the American’s cheek with the back of his hand, a bemused look in his face. It was barely hard enough to hurt but rather to make clear who was in charge of the conversation. Like it wasn’t oblivious enough.  
“Gotta get creative if you have to entertain Snow White, eh?”   
Vaas based up on Jason’s torso and shot him a playful grin. Jason’s pulse raced with the contact.  
“I thought about hanging you or strangling you to death but I never had the chance to do so…” One of his hands wandered up to Jason’s throat again and grabbed it in a prankish manner but let loose immediately.   
Jason didn’t know if the merciless anger or the playful amusement scared him more. Either way, he felt his heart race but the panic in his spine dropped down to a minimum. The feeling of Rook’s king on top of him drove him crazy but he barely cared about the death threats anymore.

“I have it now, you know, and I could simply take it - but nonono, Jason, that’d be too easy. I could kill you in endless ways right now. But I won’t.” Mania glowed in his weirdly light colored eyes that rushed over his face. Jason sighed. He was tired of the empty monologues and the missing action. Things had been easier when he was shot at the second they made eye contact.  
“Think further. Open your mind, expand your horizon. You fell from heaven, crashed to the ground and I will drag you down even deeper, hermano. I won’t kill you, Jason Brody.”

The American snorted and rolled his eyes.  
“You won’t. Sure. So you’re just here for a big manly hug-out to finally say goodbye, eh?”

“I think we’re past that stage, man.”   
The Hispanic shot him a wink and let his hips roll against the American’s. Jason made a mental note that sarcasm and provocation wasn’t the smartest move to make with Montenegro sitting on him. There weren’t many smart moves to make at all.

“Nono, hermano, I’m here because I have great plans for you. Maybe god doesn’t have great plans for you but Jason, at least I do. You can trust me better anyway.”  
Jason’s eyes twitched between the Hispanic’s as he tried to make out what was on his mind behind the oblivious madness and the strange euphoria. He usually wasn’t too fond of the pirate king’s plans.   
“- You _do_ trust me, don’t you, Jason? I never lied to you. Did I ever lie to you, hermano?”

“You said you’d kill me on daily basis and still I’m here.”

“Eventually I will, you can trust me with that, hermano. Just not now. Not yet, Brody. Right now, I still need you.” He smiled and Jason didn’t dare to imagine what he needed him for. The man on top of him let out a small sigh that rocked down into Jason’s body. He wasn’t ready for serious talk with the pirate.

“I can’t kill you, hermano. I couldn’t, no matter how many times I promised Hoyt or myself I fucking would. And there were times I really tried, you know. At first I didn’t really give a shit about you, just another white boy stranding on the wrong island. But that changed. Because, Jason, you know what? Do you know what I see when I look at you?”   
The Hispanic bowed down towards Jason who prayed that he wouldn’t have to endure another rant about how weak he had become since he left Rook. He had heard enough of that already and if he had the slightest chance to overwhelm the pirate, he would show him a fistful of what was still left of Snow White.  
“You know what I see when I look at that pretty boy face?”  
A hand framing his face ripped Jason out of his concern. The tender touch let disgust crawl up his throat. His focus snapped back to Vaas’ glare above him and his voice that dropped down to a whisper almost.   
“I see myself in you, Jason Brody.”

As Jason inhaled to respond, the hand shifted from his jaw to push his mouth shut immediately.   
“Shhh, Jason, keep your dirty thoughts for yourself. Kinky bastard.”  
Jason tried answer but he couldn’t bring out anything besides some spit against the firm grip. A wave of frustration and embarrassment rolled or him. Even though there was no threat in his words, the American felt nervous for the hand on his face and the low voice of Montenegro whispering some drugged up shit.  
“You and me”, the Hispanic leaned in closer, “me and you. We’re the same, Brody.”

Jason squinted and tried to make out if the Hispanic’ hectic pupils were more blown than usual. He noticed that his glare was on the sober side and he worried that the sober Vaas Montenegro was even weirder than the high one.   
He slowly shook his head to disagree, careful not to make any harsh movements with the pirate’s hands being so close on him. He knew what the pirate’s king was capable of, despite the stab wound that barely had a few weeks to heal. Someone must have had him stitched up pretty well. Or maybe it was the simple ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude Vaas had that kept him on his feet or in this case, on Jason.

The distance between them was still terribly small with Vaas lingering above Jason, bowing down to him so that their noses almost touched. He could smell the weed and the Jungle on his skin.   
“Before Rook, I was like you, Jason. Young, weak, dumb, naïve… just like you when we first met. - Not that spoiled though.”, He grinned and took his hands from Jason’s face to place them on his shoulders again, so Jason gained some distance to the maniac’s face above him. He was thankful for every inch as Vaas’ eyes lost their focus and starred right through him.   
“I was searching for my purpose in life and Rook showed me that I didn’t need no fucking purpose. They told me, ‘Vaas, you have your place in the tribe!’, ‘Vaas, you have to lead the Rakyat!’, ‘Vaas, it’s your FUCKING DUTY’ –“, He growled before his voice dropped down to a lower still very restricted tone. “- but fuck ‘em, you killed most of them. Extinguished most of these fuckers. That’s good Jason, that’s fucking good. Fucking Rakyat.” He mindlessly patted Jason’s shoulder, his gaze caught by a corner of the room. “Fucking Citra. But you got her good, Jason, stabbing her as you tried to stab me. A good fucking move, hermano.”   
Jason tried to intervene since Citra did not die through his hand even if it was still his fault she was murdered eventually. He had no chance to interrupt the man on him in his monologue.   
“When you’re young, you think they have the plan, you know, the plan for your life, for your future, but no, they don’t know shit about you or your life, not your parents, not your fucking sister… They tried to tame me when the jungle got me wild, but nonono, that didn’t work, that just wouldn’t work, hermano. Rook had me down on my knees, down on the ground and I realized what I was capable of, capable to do what they couldn’t fucking do.”  
His eyes found their focus back on Brody, a piercing look in them.   
“And so did you, Jason. We’re on one fuckin level. – And that’s what we should talk on.”

Vaas placed his hands on Jason’s lower chest and shifted his weight down his torso to push himself into a more or less standing position. Jason flinched under the sudden pressure and grew conscious of his numb limbs again. He tried to shift his legs to the side but they barely moved for the minimal blood circulation. Trembling, he pushed himself onto his arms to achieve at least a somewhat upright position.   
The pirate king in front of him stretched his arms lazily and looked rather like he just took a nap than like he sat on his favorite white boy for what felt like hours.

“See? You get me now, hermano? I had high hopes for you when you chickened out into the jungle and I wasn’t disappointed. You’re a tribal monster, Jay, fucking talented.” Vaas laughed breathily and reached out a hand to help Jason up.   
The American eyed the given hand for a second and looked back to Vaas’ face. Bemusement and genuine… excitement, next to glowing mania.

Jason reached out for him and let himself be pulled up. He got on his feet unsteadily but at least he was able to stand after being squashed by the muscled frame for what seemed endlessly. He took a few deep breaths as the weight was finally from his chest.   
His eyes wandered over the pirate king’s face. Now they were on one level, eye to eye. The smug smile on Vaas’ lips sent chills through his spine - the tension was still hovering between them, dense as it always was, no matter how relaxed the look on the Hispanic’s face might have seemed now.

“I’m not like you, Vaas.” Jason stated, trying to gulp down the anger.

They were a step apart yet the feeling of heated skin on Jason’s remained tingling on his limbs. His heart raced from the sudden blood circulation and the adrenaline rushing through his veins. With that, rage crawled up his mind. He wasn’t like the pirate king. He could never be.

Vaas let out a huff of laughter and poked one finger onto Jason’s chest that was barely an arm’s length away, with more force than needed.   
“You already are. You are just like me, Jason Brody. ”  
He placed one hand on Jason’s shoulder, right where the ink of the tatau started to sprawl over his arm. It felt heavy and way too hot on his skin. The American flinched under the touch and tried to backing out by taking a step away from him but as soon as he moved an inch, Vaas’ fingers wrapped around his biceps in a tight grip.

“We’re warriors, Jason, we have the jungle in our veins. We are ruthless killers.” The Hispanic listed, trying to keep eye contact but his gaze escaped soon. “We both rampaged over that island to take Rook for our self and made it our kingdom, Brody. We both leave nothing but chaos and bloodbaths behind. We’re feared. Not only by our enemies.”  
While he spoke, he tightened the grip around Jason’s arm until he was sure he was leaving bruises on it.   
“We both killed each other’s final escaping plan and last hope for a sane way out of this.”  
Jason pushed the image of Sam Becker back in the darkest corners of his head, just next to the sound of desperate cries from Riley. Jason’s hands clenched to fists.

“We both murdered each other’s siblings and passed the border to insanity.”

… Grant.   
Jason flinched in the memory of the initial happening. The gunshot still echoed in his head.   
The point everything had changed.   
The balancing point.  
The point Vaas had taken over.

“You should thank me for getting him out of your way.”

Jason hurled out and landed a fist into Montenegro’s grin. The feeling of his knuckles digging into his cheek, feeling teeth shudder beneath it, was pure glory. Better than any blunt, more freeing than raiding any outpost, more satisfying than any ride Citra could have possibly taken.  
Vaas stumbled backwards and tried to escape the second punch Jason stroke but failed to back out. Jason noticed the warm smell of blood and some drips rolling down the back of his hand. Still Vaas didn’t release the grip from Jason’s upper arm. Short nails dug into his skin, almost tearing it open.  
As the pirate straightened his back again – after making sure not another punch would follow the second one – a wide, shark-like grin appeared on his face.

Red streaks of blood ran between his teeth. His shoulders shuddered in a mix of adrenaline and repressed rage.   
“Thank you for getting Hoyt and Citra out of my way, Jason. Rook is finally mine again.”   
Vaas smiled while spitting drops of blood into Jason’s face. A bit of it speckled his own hand still clenching around Jason’s arm. Jason looked at the mixture of blood and saliva and waited for it to feel different on his skin than his own or all the privateers’ he had murdered on Rook.   
It didn’t.

Before Jason could really prepare for his next move, Vaas landed the next strike into Jason’s face. The American tried to lean with the punch to reduce its force but the grip around his upper arm kept him from moving. He felt the inside of his cheek bruising on his own teeth and was glad he hit more of his cheekbone than his nose.  
The former pirate didn’t give him a second to catch his breath from the last punch but reached out for his other shoulder to stable shoving a knee into his torso. Jason managed to dodge the smallest bit and pushed his hands against the Hispanic, making both of them stumble around in grunting manner.

“You rude piece of SHIT!” Vaas huffed while struggling with the American’s size advantage. “We’re exactly the fuckin same, just look what’cha doin!” Another load of good blood-spit mixture landed on Jason’s face, this time on purpose. The American wiped it with a roll of his shoulder.   
He tried to push him away, further into the room to gain some space but he held on too tight to be separated. They stumbled a few steps again, trying to land a hit on another. Vaas had the big advantage of his combat boots that dug a little too deep in Jason’s lower thigh. Jason went over his ankle and tripped into Vaas, who couldn’t stand a chance against the higher weight and bodyheight. Jason rammed into him, pushing him further into the room not without knocking into the edge of the sofa. They awkwardly bended around it as they both tried to use the moment of irritation to hurt the other. Jason felt skin and blood gathering under his nails as he clawed into Vaas’ arm searching for anything to hold onto.

As Vaas hurled out and Jason gripped his fist to stop him from punching the shit out of his face, he noticed that this was the first time they sort of met on eyelevel. No armory, no gunshots, no back- up, no unfair tricks so far except for breaking into his apartment.   
Nevertheless Jason couldn’t fight off the fist flying to his face hitting him partially on the nose. He couldn’t distinct Vaas’ blood from his on his face anymore as it drippled down his face. He was too high on adrenaline and rage to notice the scratches and the bruises Vaas left behind. They didn’t count as injuries anymore, not after what he had been through on Rook. 

They both panted heavily, for the injuries as well as for the adrenaline and strength it costed them. Jason clenched into Vaas’ shoulder to push him away from himself. His fingers dug deep into his skin and caught up on the bandage wrapped around it. Vaas lost his grip on the American and made a step backwards and didn’t notice or didn’t care for the unraveling of his chest dressing while doing so.

Instead, he used the gained space to ram said shoulder with full force into Jason who was now tucked tight in between the maniac and the backrest of his couch. The American winced in pain and suppressed the urge to empty his stomach’s contents on Montenegro’s back. This was the second time he was going for his midriff but was sure his ribs weren’t affected. He felt the pirate’s hot breath on his skin as the heavy breathing was overpowering any other sound in his ears. He grew even sicker.

Trapped again, he tried to shove Vaas back into the room but the pirate held on too tight. He pushed his whole weight onto the American, grabbing on him as life depended on it. Jason let his eyes wander over the maniac’s face and the deep sunken eyes - the trembling hands on Jason’s arms and the loose ends of the chest dressing.

“- Are you passin’ out on me?”

As Jason eyed him closer the conclusion was almost too oblivious. The drug lord was still in the process of healing and couldn’t keep up with the pace of their struggling. The loose end of the bandage slipped from the tanned shoulder and Jason noticed that the inner layers were stained. The last ram of his shoulder was definitely a mistake; while pushing his shoulder into Jason’s gut he must have stretched his chest area and by that the stab wounds, tearing on the stitches.

“Please don’t throw up on my floor…”

Vaas grunted in disrespect for the assumption. He had a sickly pale color on his face. Jason thought about cracking a ‘Snow White’ pun but then Vaas would have thought about cracking his nose properly so he saved the joking for later.

The American’s eyes found back to his opponent’s chest and he noticed the stains on the dressing darkened. The smell of blood already lingered in the air and in Jason’s nostrils from their fight earlier. As much as Jason appreciated the advantage that Vaas was weakened and trembling, the rapid growing of the stains on the bandage worried him. For a second he thought about playing for unconsciousness due to blood loss but that would have taken hours at that rate and he could not have gotten rid of the pirate or his dead body on his own anyway. At least in the middle of the city.

“You got me good, hermano…” Vaas huffed a breathy laugh somewhere in between of being sorry and embarrassed. He raised one hand to his chest and padded it mindlessly. He looked at his fingers afterwards expecting them to be blood covered; they weren’t, at least for now, so he kept pressing on the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Jason’s eyes flickered between Vaas’, unsure what to do next. He couldn’t decide whether he should make use out of the chance of his weakness or not since punching the shit out of his face was a very tempting but unfair option right now.

“Jason”, Vaas hummed while keeping the eye contact beneath heavy lids, “how ya doin’ at stitching?”

A small sigh followed the question and for the very first time regret was noticeable on his face. He kept one hand to his chest as the other reached out to fumble on the shaved sides of his head nervously. The American had never seen him like this before. Also he couldn’t believe what Vaas had just asked him to. That question was ridiculous. It was even more ridiculous that he actually wondered where his first aid kit was.   
He willingly accepted that bringing him into a hospital wasn’t an option. Either he wasn’t registered and had no reference of identity or he  _was_ registered and wanted for more crimes than Jason even wanted to imagine.

“Ah, they tried to warn me, you know, that I still need to rest, that the fucking wounds couldn’t heal enough, that I shouldn’t travel – and that I really shouldn’t fucking fight. Especially you. But it was so tempting, Jason, I missed the hunt, I missed the fight, I missed your pretty boy face, I… I missed you.” An apologetic grin crossed his lips. Jason felt a little more weight leaning against him and wondered whether it was just irritate him or if he really needed the support. Vaas slowly reached out for Jason’s face, two fingers gently touching the blood trickling from Jason’s nose.  
Jason froze for a second and was too irritated to appreciate Vaas mumbling a comment about Snow White’s lips. The former pirate wiped his fingers on his tank top. Red smears blended into red fabric.

Trying to suppress the thought how wrong this whole situation was, Jason used the small space between them to pull on the neckline of Vaas’ top to have a closer look at the extent of the bleeding. He ignored him muttering something about not even buying him dinner first.

“I should let you bleed dry, Vaas, that’s exactly what you deserve.” Jason mumbled, pushing the outer layers of fabric aside. His own fingers were splotched in red by now. The slippery coating on his skin threw him right back to the Jungle. At least he wouldn’t have to pick bullets out of him.

“You won’t. People do weird shit when they’re high on endorphins and adrenaline, Jason, that’s why I’m in your hands right now. You’re no exception, white boy.”  
He flinched beneath Jason’s fingers as the American dug deeper to reveal the slightly open wounds, maybe not that accidentally. Four stab wounds, the upper two slightly gaping open. The weight of the ritual knife crawled back into his hands.

“The bleeding is a little heavy just for ripped stitching.” Jason looked up to scan his face again. There was still barely color in is face but his eyes didn’t dilate in weird ways. Even when he was flinching in pain, Vaas had not broken the eye contact yet. Usually his eyed would wander over the place and flicker from one point of interest to the next, just avoiding his opponent’s eyes. Now he had his full attention. It felt too heavy and intimate to hold.  
“Taken any blood thinners?” Jason asked, not wanting to know about any specific drugs he never had heard of anyway.

“I didn’t take anything, Jason. I’m as clean and sober as I could be. You’re the only thing that fucks with my mind.”  
Vaas breathed lowly into the way too small space between them.  
Pale eyes stared into Jason’s who didn’t dare to ask if this was also the explanation for the fast beating pulse underneath his fingers – his fingers that laid on the privateer’s skin with too much pressure than needed. He got too audacious around the pirate, way too ignorant about the fact that any second this chaotic person could explode again. Maybe he was because he had seen it happen dozens of times before.

He lifted his hands from Vaas’ chest and remembered that he was familiar with a delusion and not the man sitting in front of him. He had lived with a copy, a bad memory; every fight they had he had shared with himself. He was attached and used to his own imagination and not the filthy piece of a privateer.  
He wondered if this diminished or increased the tension between them that made his hands tremble.

“You’re talking shit, Montenegro.” Jason snarled and also wiped his fingers on his opponent’s shirt. He tried to hold intense glare that now never seemed to break. The pure honesty in them made him feel dizzy.  
Warily the American grabbed Vaas by his upper arms and lifted his body weight off of him that tucked him between the privateer and the sofa in his back. He pushed Vaas into the direction of the kitchen behind them so the Hispanic stumbled a few steps backward, visibly irritated by the sudden movement.

“Get your ass on that counter.” Jason sighed and headed for the bathroom to gather the needed supplies to patch the pirate up.

“Aye, I think I like your dominant side, Brody- or should I say ‘Foster’?” Vaas huffed as he stumbled towards the kitchen.

“Oh just shut the fuck up, Vaas.”

Jason turned around to go and search for bandages and a rounded needle. He had the supplies lying around somewhere and getting them would give him a second to breathe away from the heavy presence. An excuse for the escape. He had repressed the memory of how exhausting dealing with the pirate was, even if the gun fire wasn’t opened.

“Scared of your neighbors hearing me, Brody?”

After searching for a second, he found what he needed: There was a tin box beneath his sink containing some basic medical supplies like bandages, some cannulas, spirit and painkillers you could send an elephant to sleep with. He barely needed them but some bad habits are hard to shed.

“I guess they’re used to me screaming at you.” Jason mumbled while grabbing the box. He had a quick glance at his face in the mirror and met his own eyes. He was flushed and his skin was blotched with red marks of punches and blood splattered in a few spots where Vaas had hit him hard or spat at him. The blood underneath his nose was smeared where Vaas had touched it and already dry in a few spots. His eyes flickered between confusion and being just too fed up to still give a shit. His life had had become too obscure since Rook anyway, this just added to the list.  
He took a deep breath and faced away from the mirror.


	4. Chapter 4

As he walked back into the living room, Jason wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved that Vaas still sat on his kitchen counter just as he had told him to. He hunched on the counter, legs hanging over the floor and it were the bruises on his face and the blood on his teeth that made the image actually less weird.   
Jason placed the first aid kit next to Vaas on the counter and let his eyes wander over the Hispanic that looked pretty relaxed except for his knuckles turning white for clawing into the surface  beneath him.

The American’s eyes lingered on the hands clinging to the countertop for a second. Without thinking about it, he pushed his fingers beneath Vaas’ clawing ones and forced his hands to open. As he found them empty Jason quickly pat down his’ lower back and the counter top behind him.

“… what the fuck are you doing, hermano?” Vaas muttered clearly confused yet not fighting the touch. His eyes kept searching Jasons’s for any explanation but the younger one was too focused pretending being a security guard was his day time job.

“Just checking if you’re hiding anything. That’s quicker than checking every drawer for a missing kitchen knife.” Jason explained.   
He wasn’t sure if he felt relief for Vaas not planning on attacking him; an ambush would have been easier to cope with than whatever this was going to be. Jason sighed opening the lid of the box trying to avoid his opponent’s eyes.

“Do I have to strip you myself or are you still capable of that?”

Vaas examined the American’s face and pulled up his shoulders in an apologetic manner. The slight grin on his face would have given him away if it wasn’t for the intentionally bad acting.   
“I guess I am in need of assistance?”   
He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. Jason knew he wasn’t.

Nevertheless Jason grabbed the worn hem of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, careful not to touch the wounded parts of his chest. He dropped it next to the former pirate on the counter. It wasn’t ruined yet, at least for Rook standards.

“See, this is what I was talking about.”

Jason didn’t bother to ask what the former privateer meant, just expected further babbling anyway and searched in his medical kit for the items he needed. The quicker his hands would be busy with patching him up, the less time he had to focus on what Vaas was saying.

“The hunter’s instinct you’ve developed, you know, checking immediately if I was armed as you left me unobserved–“, He pointed from his eyes to his other hand with two fingers, “That’s the instinct I need, Jason.”

Said American grabbed the disinfectant, unscrewed the cap and poured some over a cloth in a practiced manner.  
“Bullshit.” He whistled.

“… you know, maybe I was wrong before. Maybe I judged too quickly, made wrong assumptions when I first saw you again. Maybe fate’s finally playing in my hands and I finally made the right decisions.” Vaas rambled with a smile full of content. Jason hated every second of it still he waited for him to continue. There was something oddly mesmerizing about honest sympathetic expressions in his opponents face; something so rare it felt delusional and too fragile to survive.

“You tried to leave the warrior at Rook but that just wouldn’t work, did it? Nonono, it is even the other way around; Snow White escaped, buried Jason in Rook’s sand and now he’s hiding in the shadow of what Brody’s life could have been. And it’s a sad attempt if you’re honest.”

“That’s also a sad attempt of an insult, Vaas.”   
Jason’s interjection was left unheeded with Vaas just continuing to speak so the American didn’t hesitate to smack the dripping cloth onto the wound in front of him. Vaas jolted and tried to dodge Jason’s hand instinctively yet he just applied more pressure. He didn’t necessarily need to be that rough with the former pirate. He was anyway just to cut the intimacy.

“Think about it:” Vaas hissed between short breaths and bared teeth, “Who do you think was most feared on Rook? Whose name could silence whole outposts and villages? You think it was Hoyt? That South African faggot was just the man with the money. Then me? Good guess but I was just one of the privateers, just one of _them_ , you know. – But maybe Citra? A merciless goddess but she was worshipped, not feared… - Do you remember who killed all three I just listed? Who killed the boss, almost all of his men and even the goddess? - That’s fucking _right,_ Brody, that was you! Just mention ‘Snow White’ and people start shitting their pants. Even the Rakyat do now.”

Meanwhile Jason had finished cleaning the wound. He tossed away the dirty cloth and resisted the urge to hit Vaas in the face with it instead.   
“Please tell me you didn’t risk bareknuckle fighting me earlier just to tell me that I’m a bad person.” Jason huffed. He was already fed up again with the sheer amount of words Vaas took to visualize what Jason already knew and tried to block out since he had left Rook.  
“I don't think you need any further stitches by the way. A compression dressing and no further fights in my apartment should be enough. I'm no nurse but I guess you'll live.”

“Yes, fucking listen to me! That's exactly my point,” Vaas grabbed Jason’s arm and forced his attention back to him, “Every single soul you cared about is either dead of afraid of you. There’s a reason you didn’t return to you kid brother and friends, hm?”

“To keep them safe.” Jason grunted.  
The worst thing about this was that Jason felt caught. There was a point in his journey on Rook that he was proud on his accomplishments. The moment of realization that he was way beyond any moral standards hit him way after his friends and family started watching him full of fright.

Vaas yanked on his arm as a sign of dismiss; Jason lost his balance so he took a sidestep towards the former privateer. His hip nudged into Vaas’ knee but the grip on his forearm kept him close anyway.

“Stop fucking lying to yourself, Jason. They’re fucking afraid as they should be.” Vaas snarled, “But Jason?” Another slow pull on Jason’s arm made him lean in closer as Vaas’ lowered his tone to a disgustingly sweet whisper, “Everyone’s afraid of you. Every. Single. Soul. - Except for me.” Vaas’ manic eyes pierced into Jason’s so intense that he was almost glad about the grip on his arm that kept him in place.   
“I live. I survived you. Fuck, I started living, you know... I’m the balancing point. When you met me you started walking the path of the warrior. You started this with me and you will end this with me. I’m the only constant. I’m the only one left. And this why I need you and you need me, Jason.”

The rush of guilt made Jason hesitate; although he hated the phrase he got lost in Vaas weirdly light colored eyes for a second. That eyes that seemed to look right behind everything he had built up to protect what was left of the boy that once stranded on the wrong island.  
He remembered the look fear in everyone’s eyes he had seen on Rook; back then he had tried to convince himself that his friends and the Rakyat were afraid of Hoyt and his men. That he was still one of the good ones. Back then he had thought he was the only good one. In the end he had found out he wasn’t any better than them. He avoided the question if he was even worse than most of the men he had killed.  
Vaas looked at him with such a piercing clearness; he knew what Jason had done and he  _understood_ . 

In the few seconds in which Jason was too caught in the memory of Rook to respond Vaas still held his gaze. He usually avoided eye contact; Jason read it as a consequence of him struggling keeping his thoughts together and repressing the full palette of emotion that rushed through Montenegro’s head.   
Now Vaas was absolutely sure about the point he was making.

“Your place is on Rook and you know it. This,” He gestured around the room, “just doesn’t feel right. This place and this society have you caged. With this lifestyle you’ll end up like one of those zoo animals that walk up and down the same path in their small cage until they die. They wait for it, Jas. And I can’t let this happen to you.”

It was this moment Jason was ripped out of the uneasy mixture of guilt and regret that made him speak up. Vaas had implied it before but in his last words the suggestion was pretty clear.

“You want me to come back to fucking Rook with you.”

It wasn’t a question because he knew what was implied. He could see it in the way the corners of Vaas' eyes wrinkled in a knowing, almost  caught grin . It was one of the rare moment Jason remembered that behind the king-sized ego there was just a man in his mid-twenties. 

“And will you?” He asked sheepishly.

“Fuck no?!”

Saying Jason was dumbfounded by the sheer audacity of this scenario was understated. This surpassed the levels of madness they had shared on Rook.   
He couldn’t just go back and dig out of the sand what he tried to bury just a few weeks ago. A part of it already sat in front of him and that was way, way more than enough.

“Listen: Either I’ll leave with you or I don’t leave at all, Jason. You took everything I had from me and it’s only you who can rebuild it.”

“…did you just say I fucking owe you?”

The American placed his hands on the counter top next to the pirate, thankful for the support. He hoped with being a few inches taller than him he gave an at least somewhat dominant impression even though he felt as stable as a cooked noodle.

“I said that I can give you a purpose again.”, Vaas corrected and paused, “Prove me wrong, Jason. Remember the jungle, remember the hunt. Rook misses you just as much as you miss Rook.”

Jason thought Vaas put his own voice in what he claimed Rook was but pushed the thought back onto the pile of other moral ambiguous questions.    
This whole situation was complicated enough without an absurd emotional plain and implications involved.   
Things were easier when Vaas was just a villainous character and ambassador of who was the enemy back on Rook. But he had made Jason realize that instead he was disgustingly human, not only vulnerable but also terribly flawed; teaching about the definition of insanity while acting on the definition of obsession.

“Cut the corners and leave me out of this,” Jason suggested trying to convince at least himself, “Invest into bribing some goons if you need someone to clean up for you.”  
Shoulders pulled up he let his head hang while his eyes searched for better answers on the floor.

Vaas shot him a deprecating look.  
“That's not the fucking point, hermano, and you know it.”

Not like there was any confidence in his words to begin with but it was worth a desperate shot.

Jason was well aware indeed. He tried to ignore it, tried to let the reoccurring thoughts slip but there were just so many times he could act dumb and also believe it himself.

The hunt for each other set up by Hoyt and Citra had changed over time for both of them. While Jason didn't live up to the openly obsessive, borderline possessive behavior his opponent showed he couldn't deny that – even if it mortified him - he was addicted to it.

Just as Vaas stated before, Jason had missed it as well.  
The rush of adrenaline and euphoria, the pure risk and high stakes, simply feeling alive, hell, even the goddamn banter.  
Admitting the truth to himself made his ears burn in embarrassment.   
This was wrong in way more ways than he was able to count and once again he was relieved his family didn't knew he was still around.

After repressing a sound that would probably have turned more into an annoyed whine he grabbed the compress out of the first aid kit. He hoped he would gain some time to find a solution for not agreeing to going back to Rook that did not also include killing Vaas.

Jason placed the compress onto the privateers chest. As it slipped through his hand and his fingers brushed against the privateer he noticed how much his hands were shaking.

“Sure, hermano, just poke another hole into my chest.” Vaas snickered and grabbed the compress to place it onto the wound himself.   
“I'm telling you, Brody, be clever and give in. There's nothing holding you back here.”

In attempt to calm himself Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose smearing the half dried blood around his face. He was frustrated by the dead end he was approaching with terrifying speed.

Jason's eyes found back to Vaas and found him smiling so unapologetic and honest that Jason felt himself crushing face front in said dead end.

The more time they spent in his apartment the less he trusted his moral compass. He knew that in the worst case he was capable to resolve this situation violently but if there was any there option he deliberately would take it.

Vaas let go of the compress. He wiped his thumb across Jason's cheek leaving a crusty trail of blood behind. Jason wasn’t exactly the type for warpaint. His touch was tender and gone in a second.

“Jason... the blood on your face just does something to me.” He sighed.

Jason was waiting for a following insult or even violence to break the tension clarifying Vaas was joking. His casual smug attitude remained and it scared Jason more than any gun was ever being pointed at him.


End file.
